Daddy Dean
by Apple Senorita
Summary: John died when the boys were much younger. Now Dean and Sam have to struggle with life on their own. Can Dean fill their father's place for the growing Sam, and keep himself afloat too?, even when everythingone is standing in their way. Give it a chance
1. Chapter 1

Ok I've been playing with this idea for a while. I know this is an awful idea, but John dies on a hunt when the boys are young. And this is how they deal with Dean having to be a Dad and a brother, and Sam growing up with no-body but Dean.

I've decided to do it in segments kinda thing. So this first story is when John originally dies, when Sam's aged 10 and Dean is fourteen.

Enjoy.

"It's alright Sammy, it's Ok,"

Despite the laments, the soft noises and the gripping hug, nothing stopped Sam's sobs. And despite his sub-conscious screaming at him to stop, the blood drawn from his palm as he gripped his fists, and the howling of the window, nothing could stop Dean's either. Sam's words were unintelligible, small wailing syllables that added together in his jumble of crying made little sense. It made Dean hold on tighter. The grass wasn't wet but the ground beneath it was, and it soaked their jeans as they sat furled in the edges of the forest. The wind broke against their barely protected backs and bit into their fingers and cut at their faces. They didn't seem to register it though. Sam buried his hot shaggy head into Dean's neck and he crawled further up Dean's trembling knees, "Dean, Dean," he wailed, the little ten year old letting rip as he lost his hands in his big brother's jacket, holding on for all it was worth. And his eyes fixed on the same spot all of the time. Dean tried to say something but choked, instead lukewarm tears reached to his throat and touched his skin gently, reminding him. They hit Sam's hair with inaudible patters.

"What do we do Dean, what do we do?" Sam's voice eventually managed to push together.

Dean held on and his chest moved with sobs he couldn't stop. "I don't know Sammy,"

Dean called Pastor Jim when Sam was asleep. Or at least that was what he told Sam. When the red-eyed, shallow breathed little Sammy appeared in the morning, holding onto one of Dean's old t-shirts and looking lost, Pastor Jim still hadn't arrived. And as they sat staring at their respective breakfasts, Sam doubted Dean had rung Pastor Jim at all.

"Is he going to come?"

"Who?"  
"Pastor Jim?"  
"Sure he will Sammy,"  
"When?"  
"I don't know,"  
"Is he going to do something with…with Dad?"

Dean suddenly looked pained, and he had to dip his head towards his cereals to stop the wetness in his eyes showing, "Uh, yeah, I guess," he said, his voice breaking a little. Sam watched his brother struggle to keep the pain in, and nodded gravely. He felt like crying too, but unlike his brother he'd sobbed all night into the pillow whilst Dean had been out 'sorting stuff out'. He seemed to have cried all the tears humanly possible, and even if he tried he doubted he could weep any more. At least for now. The expression on Dean's face, for example, was starting to bring a lump to his throat.

"Can I have a bath, Dean?"  
"Yeah. Yeah if you want,"

Sam paused, biting on his lip, "Am I allowed to turn on the hot tap?"  
"What?"  
"Well the water in his place is really, really hot and Dad says I'm…Dad said I'm not allowed to touch it,"  
Dean sighed and disappeared for a moment, before re-appearing with his shoulders looking as heavy as lead, "There you go Sammy. It's running,"

He sat down on the chair next to Sam and ran his hand through his hair. He forced a funny expression onto his face and chuckled croakily, "Wash your hair whilst you're there too Sammy, it's disgusting,"

Sam gave a small smile before slipping off his chair and heading into the bathroom. Dean sat back down heavily at the table and stared at his Cheerios. He hadn't rang Pastor Jim last night. For the first few hours he was aware enough to do anything, he'd stowed Sam in the back of the car under their Dad's coat and told him to go to sleep; something he knew Sam hadn't done. He'd told him not to look up, just to stay there with his eyes closed; another thing Sam hadn't done. Then he'd buried their Dad's body. It had taken the exhausted fourteen year old all the strength he'd had but he'd done it. Not six feet under, not that far, but enough to stop rogue animals from digging him up. It was a thought that – combined with other memories from the night's experiences – had caused him to turn around and heave up his stomach onto the grass. That was when he'd seen Sam out of the corner of his eye, knelt up on the back seat watching him through the window. There'd been so little expression on his baby brother's face, and Dean had promptly been sick again.

He knew that to bury his father meant that he could have some time to sort himself out before he rang Pastor Jim. The creature had Sam and Dean's blood in it's nostrils and would hunt them down so as not to endanger its litter again. So when he'd tucked Sam into bed, knowing all the while that the trembling body he swathed in the blankets wasn't quivering from cold but from sobs, he'd then gone and killed the beast. It was an ugly thing, shaped like an emaciated gorilla but doubly intelligent. It had smelt Dean a mile away but Dean had killed it, and its litter too.

But still…Dean couldn't seem to force himself to pick up the phone. After a while of staring at his breakfast he went into the bathroom to see Sam curled up in the water, shivering even though there was steam from the temperature. Dean grabbed the shower head and blasted Sam's hair with it.

"Ah Dean!"  
"Sorry, but you weren't getting on with it were you?"  
"I can wash my hair myself,"  
Dean handed him the shower head and Sam began to scrub at his hair.

"When's Pastor Jim coming?" he asked again, rubbing so hard Dean wandered how his scalp didn't set on fire.

"As soon as he can Sam,"  
"You haven't rung him, have you?"  
"Yes I have,"  
"No you haven't. Or he would be here by now," Sam's voice was low, a touch down from accusing. He ran the water over his hair and rinsed the shampoo out.

"He lives a long way away Sammy,"

Sam dunked the showerhead into the bath as an exasperated motion and said, his voice louder now, "Dean, Dad always said that Pastor Jim would make any journey in half the time if he knew one of us needed his help-"  
"Christ Sammy that was only metaphorical," Dean snapped, unable to help himself.

Abashed, Sam looked down at the water, "What does metaphorical mean?" he eventually asked into the silence.  
"It means that it should be true, or it should work, but it probably doesn't in real life,"  
"Oh. Ok,"

Dean sat himself down on the toilet with the seat down and began to make a 'To-do' list.

1. Find a way to get them some money

2. then go food shopping

3. call pastor Jim

4. Organise his Dad's stuff

5. Get Sam enrolled in school in the school their Dad had found for him

6. Buy some aspirin for his headache.; 

Sam had acquired Dean's old t-shirt as a comfort blanket. When he woke up to screams in the middle of the night he got confused between the blanket and his brother; since both smelt of Dean. In the end he clutched the blanket and curled his body around it, putting his hands over his ears and willing away the sounds of his brother having a nightmare. He bit down on his lip until two gentle rivulets of blood slunk down his chin. When eventually Dean settled, Sam snuggled his head into the crook of Dean's neck. He placed a hand on Dean's heaving chest and, caught in a moment of indecision, began to cry himself. After a moment or two he sniffed heavily, taking in a long steeling breath, before deciding to comfort his brother in the only way how; copying the master.

He rubbed Dean's chest and said, in a small voice that trembled at the edges, "It's Ok Dean. It's Ok. It's not real. It's just a bad dream,"

Even though Sam knew that this time it most probably was real. When Dean woke the next morning there was blood on his neck and Sam was fast asleep, his breaths shuddering a little as if he'd been crying. Carefully he extracted himself from Sam's grip, and clumsily made his way into the living room. He was wonky-eyed from sleep and there was a strange sensation in his leg like it had gone to sleep. Forcing himself to think about breakfast, and only breakfast, he forgot about everything else and tumbled over something on the floor. His Dad's jacket lay wrapped around his ankles when he looked down, but he didn't have the heart to kick it away. Instead he pulled it up over his knees, leant his head back against the kitchen counter, and remained where he was. He stared into middle distance, and didn't cry, fist clenched inside his Dad's jacket. Breakfast eventually waited until midday.

Next Chapter: 'I'm going to have to get a job,'

'Dean you're fourteen, you're not allowed a job,'

'It depends what job you apply for,'


	2. Chapter 2

Wa-hey, thanks for the reviews! My other stories will be updated shortly, I hope!

"You just keep pushing and pushing, and pushing don't you!"  
"I just don't see why I have to give up my life because of _you_!"

The shopkeeper was arguing with his wife. Dean looked up cautiously, head bowed and hands burrowed deep in his pockets for spare change. The back of the store was becoming some sort of fiendish battle ground and the shouting was making Dean's head ring. When he eventually fumbled all of his money from his pockets, the storekeeper's wife was on to his sexual inadequacies, and Dean's ears were burning furiously with embarrassment.

"Shut up Martha there's kids in the shop!"  
"Yeah, neighbourhood kids who can tell all their parents, I _hope_ they hear me,"

Dean swallowed heavily at the change in his hand. He was a dollar short. Frantically he searched his pockets again. He had only taken a certain, calculated amount from the stash him and Sam had left, and he thought it would be enough to buy the meagre groceries they needed. Obviously not. Biting down on his lip without caring about the pain, he turned out his pockets, but there was nothing left. The shopkeeper took his opportunity to harrumph back up to the counter.

"Come on kid," he said, sticking out a hand, having told Dean the price of his purchases just before his wife had stuck her head through the back door and started the argument. Dean handed the only money he had over, hoping he wasn't going to count exactly. Unfortunately he did.

"Come on kid I'm not messing around here, you're one dollar short,"

Dean looked desperately down at his hands and didn't come up with anything. He gave his purchases a quick sweep, knowing that the guy wasn't in the mood for being messed around.

"Uh, Ok then, skip the cereal," Dean said, picking up the box and placing it to one side, "There,"

The man cocked his eyebrows, "Alright then,"

He gave Dean some change and Dean pocketed it thankfully. Outside the head-splitting acrid sunlight was pouring over the town centre, and Dean was having a hard time keeping his eyes open through the glare. He had sunglasses, but they were back at the motel. With the lone grocery back in his hand, he headed over towards Sam, who was sat on the bike racks next to the park, swinging his legs. Dean tried to ignore the obvious hole in his baby brother's jeans which he could see from even his position on the opposite side of the road. He noticed, with a sudden heave of panic, that a stranger was talking to Sam. He didn't bother crossing at the lights, he pelted across the road the second the cars cleared and skidded up to Sam with his fists clenched.

"Sam?"

The stranger looked up and gave Dean a 100-watt smile which took the fourteen year old a little by surprise. Dean grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him off the bike racks, the ten year old fumbling behind him, trying to keep his balance and his grip on his new comfort blanket (something he'd insisted he wanted to take with him).  
"What the hell are you doing talking to my brother?" Dean growled between his teeth, putting himself directly between his brother and the man, "Back off,"  
"I was just talking to-"  
"I said back off,"

Dean's voice didn't raise a notch but the level of venom in his tone made the man hold up his arms in mock-surrender.

"Alright. Ok. Can I just explain?"

He reached into his coat pocket and showed them his ID. Dennis Morgan, Child Protection Service.

"I'm with the Child Protection Service,"

Dean's eyes hardened even more.

"And?"  
"And I was just talking to your brother. I'm not some weirdo, I just wanted to see if he was Ok. He was all alone out here," the man was mid-twenties and smiling, with a soft voice that had a southern lilt, but Dean wasn't going to give the guy any leeway.

"I went to the store. Sam sat out here because the sun's on this side of the road,"  
"Why doesn't he have a jacket?"  
"None of your business," Dean snapped, although inside he was stammering. Sam didn't have a jacket because Sam's only jacket fell in the mud when they were being chased the thing the other night. He'd had no time to go back for it and the only hoody that fitted Sam was in the wash.

"You don't have to be defensive son I was just asking. Sam here says you're four years older than him, is that correct?"  
"Yes,"  
"And you're called Dean?"  
"Yeah,"

Dean clenched Sam's hand and turned on his heel, "And now we're going. Bye,"

They got a couple of feet away before Dennis called after them, "You boys staying in town with family or something?"  
Dean paused. He was torn between telling the guy where to go (making Sammy put his hands over his ears beforehand, obviously) and answering the question. The CPS has cropped up on Dean's list of 'Major Problems' (a list he'd made whilst shoving his and Sam's clothes into a laundry machine and pick-pocketing the appropriate change needed for it) and he knew that it would be in their best interest not to make them suspicious. Of course he hadn't counted on being tagged by them at all. He just hoped Sam hadn't told him their last night. All sorts of files might start cropping up otherwise. He turned and gave Dennis a winning smile, one his Dad had told him could get him anything from free ice-cream to a free phone call, "Yes. Our Dad's cousin died, and we were all really close to him. So we came along with our Dad for the funeral. We'll be heading back home tomorrow,"  
"And whose your Dad?"  
"Thomas Harley," Dean said confidently, _really_ hoping that Sam hadn't already told them their true name.  
"And your Dad's cousin?"

"Nick Leigh," Dean wondered how he could keep this lie up, "Can we go now, please, my dad wants the groceries,"

"Sure, sure. Don't let me keep you up,"

Dean affixed Sam to his person by putting his arm around his shoulders and marched off, bristling, down to the road. He gave the guy one last glance as they reached the turn, and caught him going purposefully into the shop Dean had left a few minutes before. They waited until they turned the corner at the end of the street before either of them said anything.

"I'm really sorry Dean," Sam gabbled, "I know you said don't talk to strangers but he was sat right in front of me and I couldn't ignore him and I didn't want to cross the street on my own to go and get you,"  
"What questions did he ask you Sammy?" Dean asked darkly, pulling Sam along.

"Uh, just about where I went to school. And what I was doing there. He asked me my name-"  
"Did you answer him?"  
"I told him my name was Sam and I was waiting for my brother and I wasn't supposed to talk to strangers,"

Dean stopped abruptly, "So you didn't tell him our second name?"

Sam blushed a very violent red and his eyes grew wide and pleading, "Uh, yeah,"  
"What did you call us?"  
"Jackson,"  
Dean waited for a very long moment, feeling a nausea creeping around the base of his stomach. To make himself feel better he pulled Sam to him. Shocked, Sam blinked heavily over Dean's shoulder and tried to concentrate on not suffocating in Dean's grip.

"Dean-"  
"Look Sammy we've got to watch out for those guys, Ok? If you ever see that man again and he asks you about us having different surnames, tell him you're my step-brother, Ok, and I've kept my real father's name. Promise me Sam,"  
"I promise. I'll remember Dean I won't forget, I'm sorry. Uh, Dean?" Sam toed the pavement beneath him and shuffled awkwardly, "Dad said that if they put us in care they'd split us up. Because we'd be too far apart. But what about Pastor Jim? When Pastor Jim comes he can look after both of us,"  
"It's not as simple as that Sam. And Pastor Jim isn't here yet so-"  
"I told you that you didn't call him!" Sam cried, accusing, "I _told_ you. You lied Dean!"  
"I'll call him the minute we get back Sam," Dean said, with a finality to his voice that scared Sam. It reminded him of his Dad's voice. And that thought made hot tears spring to his eyes.

"Dean I'm scared,"  
Dean gritted his teeth and forced on a smile, running his hands through his brother's hair. He was nearly bowled over by how deep they were into something Dean wasn't sure he could handle. Sam looked like some scraggy orphan – which Dean realised sickly that he was – with his t-shirt a little too big for him and his jeans sporting the hole. His big brown eyes looked sad despite what Dean knew was Sam's desperate attempt to keep happy for his big brother. And worse of all there was nothing he could do about it because their father was dead. He wasn't coming back to save the day. He wouldn't come barrelling into the motel room at the small hours of the morning and be there when the boys woke up.

"Hey, it's Ok. We'll sort things out, right?"  
"But I miss Dad,"

It was the first time they'd said the word 'Dad' in a number of hours. The realisation hadn't really sunk in for either of them that he was gone but it was certainly present.

Dean couldn't say anything in response to Sam's statement so he took Sam's hand and headed off down the street again. He checked over his shoulder numerous times for the guy from child protection. He feared those people more than he did the things his family hunted; he knew how to make those things go away.

Sam's yelp sent Dean flying into the bathroom, everything he'd been doing dropped – literally – to the floor.

"I cut my hand, I cut my hand," Sam rambled, as if talking incessantly might stop the cries. A couple of tears rolled down his tanned cheeks but otherwise he kept himself very restrained. The corner of the sink-stand had snagged the skin on the back of Sam's hand, and as Dean quickly grabbed the first aid kit he realised he didn't even want to guess if anything in the bathroom was clean or not.

"It's Ok, it's Ok," Dean shushed, once he'd wrapped up Sam's cut and had him on his lap in the kitchen. Sam's hands were shaking and Dean guessed the shock of hurting himself so suddenly had got to him. Other things, too, were obviously floating around in there. Sam buried his head against Dean's chest and said, softly, "Dad-I mean, Dean?"

Dean frowned and pulled Sam away from him, "Did you just call me Dad?"

Sam's eyes flicked to the corner then back again, "Uh, no,"

Dean thought long and hard before saying, "Ok," and kissing Sam's hair.

"When's Pastor Jim getting here?"  
"Soon,"

"Ok,"

Dean held onto his brother for a little bit longer before forcing him to stand up in front of him and look him in the air. He took in a long steadying breath before saying, "Ok Sammy, we're going to have to look after ourselves. Dad…Dad isn't here, anymore. It's just you and me. We're going to have to sort things out; organise ourselves. Right?"

Sam nodded mutely, a little stunned, "You're still going to go to school. I'm going to get Pastor Jim to enrol you in the nearest school and I want you to go every day, no questions. I guess I'll go to school soon but not now, because the pair of us need money. I think we can only give ourselves another month in this motel, and by then I think we'll have enough money to rent somewhere. A room, maybe, but we'll have someplace to call our own. We're going to keep the car, and make sure no-body finds it or ruins it. To make all the money we need I'm going to have to get a job-"

"Dean you're fourteen, you're not allowed a job," Sam cut in.

"It depends what job you apply for," Dean said, a slight ruefulness to his tone as he remember the want-ad he'd seen at the out-of-the-way maggot infested dive they'd passed on the edge of town.

"And Sammy…you can't worry. 'Cos I've got it all sorted out,"

"Ok Dean," Sam whispered, before throwing his arms around Dean's neck. Dean smiled into Sam's neck but his eyes had suddenly lost their shine.

"You clean the floors, the tops, the machines, and you don't complain, Ok?"

Dean had no idea where this guy came from but his accent was barely audible. He nodded, looking very pained in the dull grainy light of what he was told was 'the kitchen', "I have no need for you now, you will start next Thursday,"

Dean didn't want to know why his boss was making him start next Thursday, of all dates. He nodded his thanks and left out of the back door, dodging the bins which he'd been told he'd have to clean out everyday. The thought made his stomach flip. Ronald's Restaurant, averaging about four customers a day, seemed to be the only place a fourteen year old could get a job with no questions ask. He'd tried other places but they'd all been too nosey, and he'd balked at the questions. He had to work school hours because he couldn't leave Sam alone in the motel, which brought up the inevitable question of: 'why aren't you in school?'

He had to be honest; a low-paid job that consisted of pushing mops was not on his most fun things to do list but he had to do it. For Sammy. With that in mind he quickened his pace. The motel was not too far away from Ronald's Restaurant, and Dean felt that tumble of relief as he tripped in through the door to see Sam safe and sound.

Sam seemed to be more than just safe and sound. He seemed to be incredibly happy. He stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back, a grin on his face that was both cheeky, expectant, and excited. He still had Dean's old t-shirt clenched in his fist but he was in a better-fitting t-shirt and the jeans he was wearing had no hole in them. They were actually, Dean recognised, from the bottom of their clothes bag, a pair that had been forgotten for the past few washes. They were creased beyond belief but they had no holes. Sam couldn't help it, he giggled.

"What've you been up to Sammy?" Dean said, and he couldn't help a grin curl at the edges of his mouth as he locked up the door behind him. As he took a step forward Dean noticed for the first time the beds were made, there was a certain smell in the room, and there were plates on the table that seemed to have food on them. A book had been pushed under the short leg of the cranky wooden table, something that had been bothering Dean for ages, and so for once their meals weren't on a tilt. The clothes that had been scattered around for the past few days, were all stowed away in the appropriate bags and the bags lined up against the wall. Dean noticed quietly that none of their Dad's stuff had been manhandled, simply slid up to the edge of his bed.

"Sammy, you…you did all this?"  
"Well I know that you can't get a _good_ job if you're only fourteen…you get the really bad ones. So I thought you might want everything to…be Ok when you got back,"

Dean crossed the floor, and couldn't stop himself from chuckling.

"Sam you actually _tidied up_? And you…you made dinner?"

Sam nodded proudly, "I know you said don't touch the stove but I remember you making me dinner when you were only my age so I thought if I was just really careful I could do it too. So I made us dinner,"

Dean peered at the plate, "Spaghetti-o's,"

"Spaghetti-o's," Sam nodded emphatically. Dean paused for a long moment, taking in Sam's efforts to make his evening better. He'd done things like this hundreds of times for their Dad, and although he had never said anything out-loud about them, Dean had seen it in his eyes. A flash of pride, a bit of amusement, a look of appreciation. All Dean wanted to do was to emulate that and make it bigger, make Sam feel so happy about doing this little thing for his brother. He tried, he opened his mouth to gush about Sam being able to do something like this, but he dried up inside. A flicker of thought about their Dad had tripped something inside of him, and without meaning to he began to cry.

"Dean!" Sam asked, his voice breaking a little, "Dean did I do something wrong?"

Dean laughed despite the tears, "No. No Sam you did great,"

"Then why are you crying?"  
"I'm not," Dean said, and he tried to smile, "I'm-"

Dean hit the floor without realising way. He found himself sat where he had been that morning, except his arms didn't even seem to have enough strength in them to go around his knees. Sam bundled himself into Dean's chest because he couldn't think of what to do and vaguely hoped the Spaghetti-o's didn't go cold because Dean hated cold Spaghetti-o's.

"It's Ok Dean. It's Ok," he said, one hand planted on Dean's chest. He wanted to get the weight behind it that he knew his Dad's always had, but a ten year old palm meant nothing to a fourteen-year-old's shuddering chest. The words were rehearsed and well-used, like phrases from a script the family had learnt long ago. The comfort behind them swelled in Sam and he wanted Dean to feel it too, "It's Ok Dean. It's Ok,"

A knocking at the door jerked them from their positions, "Is anybody home?"

Xxxxxxxxxx

Next chapter: "I don't know why you lied Dean, but I intend to find out why, we're only trying to help you and your brother,'

…

'Pastor Jim can't come, something's got his scent and he says we're in danger if we stay with him. He's dealing with Dad's body but he's sending someone to come and look after us,'

'Who?'

'I don't know. Some guy called Bobby. But we won't be here when he arrives Sam,'


	3. Chapter 3

"Is anybody home?"

Dean froze, gripping onto Sam with all the strength in his young fists. He signalled for Sam to keep quiet and got up onto his feet. Sam crawled under the table and clutched his knees, watching with wide eyes as Dean crept up the door. He kept close to the side to avoid his shadow being seen, and he didn't breathe for fear of being detected.

"Maybe they went out,"  
"Yeah. Maybe. I think I can see a way around the back though, lets check for a window,"  
The minute the footsteps retreated Dean dashed to the only window in the kitchen and went to pull shut the curtain, but then he remembered the woodworm in the ancient curtain rails. None of the curtains could stay up on their warped rails. He hissed a curse under his breath and pulled Sam quickly into the bedroom, ordering him to get under the bed. In the kitchen he grabbed the plates from the table and dunked them into the sink, whipping Sam's jacket he'd left to dry off the back of the chair and skidding back into the bedroom. He dived under the bed next to Sam and just about got his limbs under in time.

"Looks like they're out. We'll give them another hour or two, then come back,"  
"Sure,"  
"But I got to be honest, I don't think kids should spent any longer in here than necessary. And it kind of looks like they've taken up shop here,"  
"Kicked out of their old home, maybe, so the Dad decided to take a motel room?"  
"Maybe. Come on, I've gotta get back to the office,"

The two strangers moved off and a car engine eventually sputtered into life from the car park. Dean eased himself out from under the bed. Once the noise of the car joined the main road, he let out a long breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"It's Ok Sammy you can come out,"

Sam crawled out from under the bed but remained knelt on the floor. When Dean caught his gaze, he was hit full on by Sam's wholly serious expression, the look that their Dad had said told them Sam was going to be a very bright kid. Dean always felt pinned under that stare; compelled to do the right thing. He groaned, "Alright, I'll call Pastor Jim," Dean grunted. He stalked over to their bag into the corner and made a show of digging out the cell phone. Sam watched his brother's back carefully, watching the shoulder muscles flex and writhe under the taught material of Dean's slightly-too-small metal-grey top. Carefully he tiptoed across the room, back into the kitchen, and peered into the sink. His carefully prepared meal lay in a messy orange sludge on the off-white plates, sliding south towards the plug hole. Sam let out a tiny imperceptible sigh before pushing himself away from the sink. He sat down heavily on the kitchen table and watch Dean slowly type out Pastor Jim's number. He rested his head against the table and counted the woodlice accumulating in the far corner.

"Pastor Jim…it's Dean,"

Dean sounded like he was hyperventilating in this sleep. They'd avoided the CPS guys once again by being out of the motel room. Dean had taken Sam to the nearest park and let him swing like a gibbon from the monkey bars as he talked details with Pastor Jim on his cell. Night had fallen in one sticky curtain-drop over the town, and soon Sam couldn't discern the darkly coloured bars from one another. They'd eventually got back to the motel, a card from the CPS stuck under the door, which Dean had promptly shoved in the bin. Dean had had a tight, anxious look on his face all evening and now, in sleep, look probably about as disturbed as he felt.

Sam had been feeling sick since they got back; most probably from hanging upside down, and as Dean kicked in his sleep he had gone to the kitchen to get some milk, which had always helped him when he felt nauseous. He squirmed back up onto their bed and drank his milk in the off-white glow of the moon casting itself through the window. He wanted to wake Dean but was afraid of the consequences, afraid Dean might cry from the shock of waking so suddenly after a nightmare. So he let him toss and turn and yelp and cry out and drank his milk. He was glad Pastor Jim had been called, maybe now things would be Ok. But in the back of his mind he knew he was probably wrong. That things weren't going to be Ok for a long time.

He mused gently on why Dean had never rang Pastor Jim before. Why hadn't that been the first thing he did? It'd been drilled in their heads since they were small, that if their Dad didn't come back from a hunt they had to call Pastor Jim. Why hadn't Dean done it?

The only conclusion a sleepy Sammy at three o'clock in the morning could come up with, was that Dean hadn't accepted it has real. Ringing Pastor Jim would brand him and Sam as orphans, something no child wants to find themselves as. Maybe when people who looked after kids in their kind of situation were banging at the door, it finally struck Dean what had happened to them.

Sam sighed. Yeah, that was probably it. Maybe Dean was proud too, too proud to accept any help from anybody. Maybe he was scared of losing Sam. Sam unconsciously gripped his new comfort blanket when he thought of this; of them being split up. He couldn't imagine anything so horrible.

He remembered the conversation he'd had with Dean when he'd got off the phone to Pastor Jim, as they'd walked back to the motel with their hands clenched in their pockets and their shoulders huddled to keep away the chill.

"Pastor Jim can't come, something's got his scent and he says we're in danger if we stay with him. He's dealing with Dad's body but he's sending someone to come and look after us. He lives on the edge of this town,"

"Who?"

"I don't know. Some guy called Bobby. But we won't be here when he arrives Sam,"

Morning was escalating quickly outside the window. Sam wondered how they were going to manage to get away before this Bobby guy arrived. And once again, Sam questioned why Dean was so adamant they were going to do this on their own.

He slid his glass onto the bedside table, drained dry, and snuggled in next to Dean whose nightmare was passed. He closed his eyes against the tickle of his hair and rested his head against Dean's shoulder. He pretended that their Dad was sound asleep in the next bed and screwed his eyes shut so he was tempted not to peek up and look over at that empty bed.

Dean had been holding his breath for almost forty seconds and little spots were starting to dance at the corner of his vision. Eventually he let his breath out in great big whoosh of air, and an odd sense of satisfaction lifted him up a little. He glanced over his shoulder at Pedro, his new boss, scolding a cook for breaking a wooden spoon.   
"Spoons don't grow on trees you know!" he cried in his unintelligence accent, throwing probably the only remaining spoon left across the kitchen where it dented the front of a cooker, "I'm docking your wages,"

Dean bent his head quickly and went back to mopping. He'd been playing the 'hold-your-breath' game for the entirety of his shift and realised he'd been mopping the same portion of floor for forty minutes. Two hours until he had to leave, and he was getting tetchy.

Ten minutes later, he stowed away the mop and cleaning products, and began to wrangle the apron he'd been wearing off, deciding a break was needed. He'd got it halfway over his head when he recognised the guy Pedro was talking to in the restaurant. It took a few moments for the smiling features, tall figure, and white teeth on show to register in Dean's mind. The suit and the identity card helped as well.

One word ran through his mind, one he would never repeat in front of Sam.

He threw the apron off him and bolted for the back door, not even bothering to look behind him to see if he'd been caught. He bolted from the restaurant and didn't stop running until he'd piled into the motel room.

"Dean what's wrong? What's happened?"  
"We need to get out of this motel faster than I thought Sam,"

Dean had been taught to make quick plans and to strategise from a young age. It came from John's marine days, and the older Winchester taught his sons this skill of forward planning from a young age. Even before Mary's death, John would encourage Dean to have a game plan when they scrambled out into the yard with a football and plant pots for goals. Dean smiled slightly a the memory.

So with all this planning and forethought, Dean had a plan. It was a little slower than he'd liked, but it would mean Sam could start at the school Pastor Jim had got him into, and the CPS would be temporarily thrown off their scent.

In the background, Sam was crouched to the floor, scowling at his shoes. He was having problems with his shoelaces.

"Thought you could do your laces Sammy,"  
"'Course I can. It's just these ones,"

Dean raised an eyebrow but consented and bent down to help his brother with his shoelaces. As he did so, something dangling from Sam's hand brushed against his forehead.

"Sammy," Dean sighed, straightening. He plucked his old t-shirt from his brother's loosely curled fingers. He stumbled forward a little, big dark eyes like small saucers, mouth slightly parted in shock and loss.

"D-"  
"Why have you been carrying around this stupid old t-shirt? I wouldn't have given it you if I knew you were just going to use it as your own personal pillow,"

"Dean," Sam said, his small voice trembling, "I want it back,"  
Dean bolstered on, unhearing, regardless, "Honest Sam it's like you and that penguin you had when you were four. You cried when you dropped it on the floor, and screamed when someone took it off you. Why you want my t-shirt I don't know-"

"Dean!" Sam cried.  
"What?"  
"I want it back. Please. I want it back,"

That was when Dean noticed the glistening eyes, quivering chin and furrowed brow; characteristics of Sam about to burst into tears.  
"Oh, Sammy, sorry," he said, quickly, realising, and he bundled the t-shirt into Sam's hands, "I didn't realise…I didn't know you were being serious about it,"

Sam sniffled and stuck up his chin, "I'm not too old to have a comfort blanket, Dean," he said levelly. Dean attempted a smile but only guilt shone through, "I'm sorry Sammy,"

He ruffled his hair affectionately and smiled tensely, "You can have that. Long as you like. Wherever you go,"

"And it's not stupid," Sam stated.

"It's not stupid," Dean repeated, with a chuckle. Sam nodded, satisfied.

"As long as it makes you feel better, "Dean continued with conviction, pointing to the shirt, "You keep it,"  
Sam looked down at the article of clothing. He'd had it balled up in his hands for days, but hadn't really given much thought as why.

"Yes. It does make me feel better. A bit, though. Not better…completely,"  
Dean bowed his head, "Yeah, I know,"

His hands went from ruffling Sam's hair to running through it, "But that's why I'm here. I'm here to make you feel better,"

Sam smiled a watery smile, "I know,"  
"And hey," Dean laughed, "I'm ten times better and more handsome than my t-shirts,"

Sam tucked himself under Dean's arm and hoisted his bag off the counter, "Are you going to walk em all the way?"

"'Course I am," Dean straightened the protective charm necklace Sam wore under his t-shirt, "Come on. Lets go,"

Sam had become a little Sammy-limpet by the time they reached his new school. In his head Dean was packing up their stuff and storing their Dad's thing in the trunk of the Impala, where they would sleep until Dena thought of a way of dodging his Bobby guy. He'd given them some time by refusing to tell Pastor Jim where they were staying. But it was only a matter of time.

He came to when Sam's grip on him tightened painfully. He winced but didn't ask him to relax it, "Come on Sammy you'll be fine. You've done this a million times before,"  
Sam frowned, "No…not like this,"

Dean couldn't argue there.

"It's Ok to be scared Sammy but come on. You've faced werewolves and demons and ghosts, you can do school easily. The kids will think you're really interesting; being new. And you're so smart the teachers will love you,"  
Sam looked up cautiously, "Really?"  
"Sure," Dena beamed, hoping his own fears weren't visible, "You'll be great,"  
The gate was wide and looming. Dean gripped Sam a little tighter this time. The gates were cavernous jaws about to eat Sam up.

Sam's new classmates brushed past, indifferent. This was just a new day to them. They'd probably known each other for a considerable amount of time; they probably all knew what was acceptable social-wise at this school and what wasn't. But Sam was red with nerves and embarrassment and fear.

Quietly, Dean bumped his lips against the back of Sam's skull in a small, secret, reassuring kiss, and eased him out of his grip, "Bye Sammy," he said, as evenly as he could, "See you later,"

Sam took a few cautious steps forward. Dean's hands moved to fists in his coat pocket. He smiled, but his teeth were gritted and he had to stop, not wanting to look pained. Already the briskly organised 4th grade teacher1 had spotted Sam and was fluttering over. Sam was a good few feet away now, hands flexing as if he was pretending the air around him was his comfort blanket.

Dean's body was on fire from fright and he was rooted. Watching. Now he realised he was probably feeling exactly how their Dad had felt when eh first sent Dean and Sam into school. And every day after that.

It was fear. Evil-detection was high. What if the school was haunted and Sam got hut? What if he was bullied? What if there was a fire and Sam didn't' know what to do and got trapped-?

Even Dean knew he was stupidly running away with himself now. The fire one had been the final nail, and now Dean had his eyes clamped shut, a cold sweat on his skin and his chest shuddering under the material pf his shirt. Purple spots danced over his vision, swarming and massing before eventually dying. He let out a long breath through his lips in a controlled, calm manner. It helped.

By now Sam was being frog-marched up the steps by his new teacher. Kids parted the way for them. Sam attempted to look back once he got through the doors but the angles didn't work, and he was sucked into the school building without a final look.

Dean bit his lip. Had he protected Sam well enough? The salt, the holy water, the charms-

"Hey, kid, you alright?"

Dean startled and met face-to-face with a concerned stranger. He nodded, "Yes. I'm fine,"  
The face was weathered and bristly with facial hair. The hair on his head affixed under a cap.  
"You'd better get going. I heard the bell go at the middle school. You wouldn't want to be late,"

"Oh, yeah, sure, thank you sir," Dean nodded, backing away. He took one last look at the school before he jogged away. Although he had initially wanted to scope out the school, he didn't want to hang around the guy at the gates. Not only did he see evil everywhere, he now saw the CPS everywhere.

Dean stopped by the school four times during the day. He had nothing to do but pack up their stuff and put fresh salt rings down. He didn't dare go back to work after running off the other day. In the room he felt agitated and on-edge, conscious the CPS knew where they lived, and knew by now they were probably lying about their situation too. So Dean took as much opportunity as possible to be outside.

Elvis Presley, Hound Dog, was playing on the radio when Dean got back from Sam's school for the fourth time. There was only an hour left, an hour until he got to bring Sam home.

He'd found a motel closer to the school. He'd paid with a fake credit card and booked the room for the whole month under David Constance, the name on their card. He'd found it dug away in the back of their Dad's stash, marked safe to use. So he had. And now, he hoped, they had dodged both the CPS and this Bobby guy.

Neither this hunter or the child protection service were stupid though. Dean would have to have another plan though up pretty quickly to keep them undetected.

Although out of the two, he hoped the hunter found them first. That was marginally better than Dennis Morgan.

The school gates were thronged with pupils. Dena caught sight of Sam on the fringes, looking doggedly stoic and clutching his bag (Dean's old t-shirt lying within)

"Sammy,"

Sam spun and Dean caught him in his arms, giving him a hug that left Sam breathless. And Dean didn't care what he was letting himself admit to as he clutched onto Sam. He was just glad he was Ok.

"Was it good?" he asked, as they made their way back to the motel. Sam nodded. His face looked tight and tired.

"It was Ok,"  
"Ok?"  
"Yes. Ok. My teacher's nice. She didn't make me stand up and introduce myself like my older teachers did,"  
"Did she think you were as smart as I do?" Dean grinned.

"We only did a bit of work today. We had to write a poem, though,"  
"And?"  
"She said I was very creative,"  
"That's great. That's great Sam,"

"We have to write an essay for homework. It's a profile, we have to write about someone we know. We have to be 'detailed and descriptive',"  
"Sounds good,"  
"Yeah,"

Dean couldn't help but smiling, although he knew Sam's monosyllabic answers meant a less than good day. He was so glad to have Sam back nothing else would really matter until the feeling wore a little. He got a good look at Sam now, serious face furrowed in thought. He looked tired; exhausted even, the bag heavy on his back.

They crept in through the back way to the motel and snuck into the room when the coast was clear.  
"Who are all these messages from?" Sam asked, lifting up the cell phone, "What messages?"  
"These four, from an unknown caller,"  
"Oh. Don't worry, I'll sort them out. Later,"

Dean turned on the stove and pulled out their last tin of Spaghetti-O's.

"Dean?"  
"Hm?"  
"What's welfare trash?"  
"What's…why do you want to know that?"  
"I got called it today. At school. I-"  
A fist rapped on the door behind them.  
"Is anybody home?"

The voice was different than the previous time, gruffer. Dean realised he'd heard it earlier on in the day.

He had a nauseous feeling of terrible déjà vu.

1 I'm not American, nor have I had any experience of the American system. So I had to use this random chart thing I found, my only source of research, and take a guess, so I'm sorry if I got this wrong. Feel free to put me right.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys keep them coming!! Also could people who know anything about the American education system please help. Like what a student might do at school aged 10, 14, 12, and 16? Just really basic stuff, if you can, and the grade you'd be in roughly at that age. And anything else if anything springs to mind! Thank you in advance!!


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